The Hearts She Touched
by g4rn37
Summary: Everyone at Hogwarts knew Lily Evans. From 1970 until 1977, she influenced the lives of everyone inside the castle walls. A series of stories about Lily Evans through the eyes of her peers.
1. Prologue

There are very few people that can enter your life and truly touch it. To most, life is a temporary condition, like friendship; it can be there, and it can be nice, but after a while, you out grow it. You need to move on. But there is one person that entered the lives of everyone at Hogwarts, one person who entered their hearts, their minds, their very souls.

In 1970, a young girl walked through the doors to the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was standing beside a small boy with slick black hair and robes that didn't quite fit his slight frame. Glancing around the hall nervously, she nodded her head as the boy beside her whispered something in her ear.

No one at Hogwarts noticed her that day, except to remark that another redhead had been sorted into Gryffindor. A Weasley, many thought. Little did they know that in the years to follow, this little girl would affect, change, and touch all of them in some way.

You see, this timid, young, muggleborn student was not just a temporary fixture at Hogwarts. Her spirit lived on in the halls, for years, even past her death.

From 1970 until she graduated, 7 years later in 1977, this was Lily Evans' Hogwarts.


	2. The Summer Before Fifth Year: Severus

The Summer Before Fifth Year - Severus Snape

We were sitting in a room with white walls, green trim. She was leaning back against a giant wicker sofa, near the corner where the two windows meet, and her auburn hair clashed with the pale green curtains rather violently. Her legs were propped up on a beige cushion. Why did she always insist on wearing those cutoff jeans, the ones from America that couldn't help but make me stare? Today, I was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the same wicker sofa at an angle so I could look up and out of the window at the trees, at anywhere except her beautiful, pale legs. I could feel her watching me, or more accurately, alternate between watching me and looking out the window.

"Let's do something," I said, glancing at her.

"Okay, what?"

I shrugged and went back to looking out the window. She absentmindedly lowered her hand from her lap until it was touching mine.

She always did small things like that. She'd hold my hand or stroke my cheek and I never knew what she meant by it. I closed my eyes, feeling both happy and confused.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I thought better of it. She noticed, too.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," I said, blowing her off as best I could. She wasn't convinced, and started absentmindedly tracing figures on my hand with her fingers.

"With you it's never nothing. Just tell me, okay? Whatever's on your mind, it doesn't matter to me."

"You'll regret saying that," I warned her. She shrugged and I knew she wanted me to tell her. I'd never been good at withholding anything she really wanted from her. She knew how much she meant to me. "Okay, then. How do you feel about me?"

Her hand stopped tracing designs on mine and made a hasty retreat back to her lap.

"We've talked about this before."

"All you've ever said to me is that you don't want to talk about it–that's not 'talking about it', that's avoiding talking about it, and you know it. So talk, now. We're back at school in a week. I get it if you don't want to kiss me or do anything with me, but at least tell me how you feel, instead of–instead of this."

She looked at me and sighed.

"It's not that easy," she started explaining. "It would be easier if neither of us cared."

I shook my head at her; it was too late to use that line and she knew it. I looked outside again, then I stood up. Out of habit, she followed.

I walked down the path to the pond, picking up a flat stone as I went. As I kept walking, I felt it in my hand... It was flat and light, and almost perfectly ovular.

"Wait up, are you mad at me?" she asked, her long strides falling into step with mine. She was barefoot. She was always barefoot in the summer.

I shrugged. What could I say? I wasn't mad, I was just sick of her constantly blowing to the side whatever this was–whatever she felt. I never asked for her to love me, I just asked her for the truth and she never gave it to me.

I reached the rock by the pond, and sighed. She sat down at the edge, and dangled her feet in the cold water. I slipped off my shoes–She always went barefoot and I never understood why–and sat down next to her to her right, my right arm propping her up so she could lean back a little. I looked at the rock we were sitting on, took a deep breath and met her eyes.

"Try to stop this rock from sinking," I said, showing her the rock in my hand. "Without magic."

She tried to take it from me, smiling, assuming this was another one of our games, but I was ready and skipped it lightly across the top of water before it sunk on the fourth skip. She looked at me, confused. I smiled slightly.

"Asking me not to care is like asking that rock not to sink. I can try to make it stay on the surface longer, but eventually there's nothing you can do and it's just going to sink. I can try not to care about you if that's what you really want, but I know it won't work." As I talked, my eyes drifted down until I wasn't looking at her anymore, just a circle of air above where her cutoffs met her thigh. I could feel those emerald eyes on me, so I continued.

"Do you know why I love you? Because whenever I'm with you, I never have to be perfect. I don't even need to try for perfection, I just have to be me. You know all my secrets, even the ones I never told you," I said letting out a small laugh. "Somehow you just... know, because you know me. And around you, I'm finally able to be myself." I chanced a quick glance at her, and she looked ready to interrupt so I held a finger to her lips.

"I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but it is. Do you know how hard it is to find someone who will never ask you to change, never try to change you even in small ways? And you know, it's just as hard to find someone you don't _want_ to change. But you're a combination of both, at least, I think. Because I want you exactly how you are and I think you want me how I am, but I don't know, because you've never told me." I looked her directly in the eyes.

"And every time you don't answer my question, about whether or not you care, it feels like the rock skips again. But this time, it's finally sunk–I told you how I feel, and there's no turning back for me now. So can you please just answer the question?"

She moved closer to me and leaned her head on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, waiting for her to say something, anything. She leaned up and kissed my cheek lightly with her pink lips.

We sat there for hours, until the sun began to set. And as the sun sank lower in the horizon, my heart did too.

I loved Lily Evans. But even then - even the summer before fifth year - she never belonged to me. Years later, I realised the truth the hard way. Lily Evans had only ever belonged to herself.


	3. Sixth Year: Emma

Sixth Year - Emma Vanity

I dislike Gryffindors on principle. I am not a bad person, I promise. I am highly motivated, I know what I want, and I can be manipulative. I was not placed in Slytherin House for any penchant towards the Dark Arts. I find the new Dark Lord ridiculous, foul, a disgrace. Not many Slytherins truly support him. We're quite mislabelled.

No, I was in Slytherin because I will do anything to succeed when it comes to Quidditch. Now, three years later, I am the current captain of the Holyhead Harpies and their best Beater. I was the youngest–and first female–Quidditch Captain Slytherin had had in over a century. I was Quidditch Captain for four years and I brought home three Quidditch cups.

The one year we lost was because of Gryffindor's reserve Chaser, Lily Evans.

Potter had landed himself in detention during the first game of the season for hexing someone or other in the halls in front of Professor Seams, the new Defence teacher. No one could convince him to drop the detention, so Gryffindor, desperate, turned to Lily Evans.

Pighead Potter would have been no challenge for us–his cocky flips, his telegraphed passes–but Evans was another story. I had nothing against her personally, she was just too bloody _nice_. She played fair. And, well, I didn't.

Hooch–the new Quidditch professor and referee, just retired off the Kestrels after a mangled knee the Healers couldn't fix–beckoned for me and Black, their deputy Captain, to shake hands. I tried my best to crush his hand in mine so he couldn't hold his bat, and he tried the same; the handshake lasted several seconds longer than customary, until Hooch cleared her throat.

Evans looked green. She'd filled a few times before, but this was the first time she'd faced us. The looks Mulciber was giving her would have been enough to make anyone hurl, though, mind you. Yet I knew better than to underestimate her.

Hooch blew her whistle and we all mounted. I glanced around at my team mates, and up at the stands. A quarter was wearing green and silver. At that moment, I strongly resented Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

As Hooch released the last ball - the Quaffle - I kicked off, hard, and soared in pursuit of a Bludger, my eyes never leaving Evans with the Quaffle. How she could manage to fly so fast on a bloody school broom was beyond me.

Then again, Snape was always talking about how she was a whiz at Charms, wasn't he?

No, I told myself. I need to concentrate on the game. And no matter how _nice_ Lily Evans is, I need to hit her with a Bludger. Get her out of the rest of the game.

Yet somehow, I couldn't bring myself to hit it her way. Instead, I aimed for Cresswell, their second Chaser. Evans would have passed to him, I reasoned with myself. This inconvenienced her.

Frick, Emma, I thought. Just send a bloody Bludger at her.

But as soon as I took aim, all I could see was the one Gryffindor who said 'hello' to me in the halls, no matter what that would do to her reputation. The one person who truly didn't see the importance of blood status or house lines.

No, Lily Evans was much too nice for me to consider hurting.

The game progressed; Mulciber attempted a botched Wronski Feint that nearly got him killed while Longbottom, the Gryffindor Seeker, watched and laughed. The score went up slowly, with every other goal by Evans being matched by one of our own.

Hell, Evans played smart. No fancy dives, no showing off. Clear, crisp turns. Emerald eyes. It was hard not to envy her; she had it all. Looks. Brains. Friends. I could see what Snape saw in her. I only wished someone would see that in me.

Everest, the other Beater, flew up beside me. ''Vanity! Where's your head at? You want to give me that fricking badge so someone will captain this bloody team?''

I glared at him, and swung my bat an inch from his head to prove my point. I then flew over to Hooch and called a time out.

''They're killing us out there,'' I yelled at the three Chasers. ''Even if we catch the Snitch now, we're not winning the game.''

''Thanks, captain. That's news to us,'' Wilkes said, rolling his eyes. ''Maybe if someone would knock the Mudblood of her broom I could block some of her fricking shots.''

I glared at him, mounted, and kicked off. I threw my bat in the air and then caught it with ease. ''Go, team. Win it.''

I sighed. Hell, I hated this. But I had to win. This was my last bloody year, and I was sure Evans would get to play again before she graduated.

The game resumed. We had to gain fifty points in order to tie the match. A Bludger soared towards me and I brought my bat back to whip it in Black's general direction.

_Crack_.

I knew that sound. That was not the sound of the metal Bludger against the wooden bat. That was the sound of soft bone against wood. I turned around just in time to see Lily Evans, Quaffle in hand, drop twenty feet from the ground with blood pouring out her nose.

Oh frick.

Guilty conscience kicking in, I dove down and landed beside her. I felt sick. This was not fair play. This game meant the world to me and I would do anything to win–but not like this.

''Evans, you okay?'' I bent down. She was conscious, luckily. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could respond someone grabbed me by the shoulder, turned me around and socked me in the face.

Black.

''Sirius, stop.'' Evans struggled to her feet, blood pouring out her nose. ''It was an accident. I wasn't flying well. It wasn't Emma's fault.''

Both the Gryffindor and Slytherin team turned to stare.

''Lily, you hit your head pretty hard. You sure you know what you're saying?'' Black asked. Evans shot him her usual withering stare.

I turned to her and pulled out my wand. Black made a guttural growling noise in the back of his throat, but Evans turned to face me head held high.

''Episky,'' I muttered.

Hooch called the foul, but Evans deliberately missed. She nearly hit Wilkes in the stomach, for crying out loud. A chaser like her would have never missed such an easy target.

Lily Evans taught me that Quidditch wasn't all about winning. Quidditch is about persevering, manipulating, and calculating. But Quidditch is also a sport about honour.

We didn't win the Cup that year. Not because we lost the game to Lily Evans. Not because Potter's plays were better in the Cup match. No, we lost because Gryffindor had more honour than we did.

Lily Evans taught me how to play Quidditch–the right way.


End file.
